The Windrider Cycle
by LadyToFu
Summary: The story of Windrider and Darshay as inspired by the song.
1. Ch1

Windrider Unchained  
  
Chapter 1  
  
:.Will the old man never cease speaking?.: Wondered Herald-Prince Darshay, staring resolutely ahead. His amber eyes focused on a wooden wall growing steadily larger in the distance visible between his Companion's ears.  
  
:.I could accidentally knock his horse off the path, Chosen. .: Snaked a suspiciously solemn answer into Darshay's head.  
  
The lanky Herald broke out into a fit of coughing, as Windrider showered his Chosen with images of the softly fat Baron Kestlon flying headfirst into a snow drift, still talking.  
  
:. Don't do that Horse! It's hard enough trying to keep a straight face through a candlemark on the virtues of bristleworms. I know the fuzzy things are a great help to farmers, but by the hundred little gods, they're worms! .:  
  
Windrider pranced a little. Darshay could feel the amusement seeping from his Companion. Sliding his slim hand beneath the thick blankets Windrider preferred to a saddle, the Herald scratched his Companion's back with easy affection. With the sun shining warmly on his back despite the biting cold of the snow glittering in white blankets around him, Darshay had been enjoying the final leg of his journey to Newhart. They would be, after all, his last moments of peace before the inevitable political dancing descended on him at the hands of the newest of Valdemar's potential allies. That is, they were supposed to be. The Baron Kestlon had quickly dashed Darshay's hopes, meeting Darshay on his path earlier in the day. Not that he had minded too much, initially.  
  
Kestlon had risen to power from humble beginnings, decimating bandit group after bandit group with the same iron fist that built the fortress of Newhart in less that two years time--all without anymore Gift that his own shrewd intelligence and boundless energy. Given that, Darshay had always picture the man as a more interesting conversationalist.  
  
". . . and round nor bristleworms, in partic-lar, seem to be attractin to the first on plantins more'n the latern. Speakin from a purely object've point nor view, the thicker'n bristles on the variety make for'n intriguin un-du-latins for 'em short matin . . ."  
  
Stifling a yawn, Darshay ran a hand through his auburn locks, letting Baron Kestlon's words blend into the background. Looking ahead, he could make out the barest hints of buildings peeking over the top of the increasingly looming wall. Darshay marveled at the size of the trees used to create such a colossal palisade. Maybe there was more to the rumors than I thought. There's no way Kestlon could have moved those logs, much less built that monstrosity so quickly without some sort of mage.  
  
Windrider gently rumbled his agreement. :. The structure reeks of Power. You know, if the entire place hadn't been deemed safe by Herald Rist, I'd suggest we head back. That wall makes me nervous. .:  
  
:. I think that's the point, Wind. The place IS rumored to be impregnable. It's supposed to impress, so nothing unwanted can get in. .:  
  
:. Or out. .: A brief silence passed between Companion and Herald as the impact of the statement was absorbed.  
  
:. No, but Rist saw nothing wrong. I trust that. Besides which, you're the Windrider, lord of the sky. No walls can hold you, or chains bind you. Your magic is unstoppable, your legend as untouchable as your gossamer wings of Pow. . . .:  
  
Darshay felt his bones rattle as Windrider rewarded his tripe recital with a series of bone jarring steps.  
  
:. Come Wind, you should be proud! You're a legend before your time. .: Continued Darshay, amused despite his quickly bruising rear. It wasn't often that he got to tease the sardonic Companion with so little in the way of retribution. :. This could be your chance to prove yourself. There's got to be some reason you're a featherhead, after all. .:  
  
:. Perhaps I have feathers to match my Herald's bird-brain. .: Came Windrider's acidic reply, accompanied by a final stomp that made Darshay's teeth rattle in into one another. :. Seriously, I don't like this essence of hidden Power. I like my mages where I can see them, thank you. .:  
  
The sound of snow crashing down from overhead branches distracted Darshay from replying. Even the long-winded Baron paused briefly in his one-sided conversation. Very briefly.  
  
"Look ye, we be almost back nor the fortress. Quite a nice place'n that, I'll have ta be show'n you my bristleworm samplins, yur High-ness. I have'n nor incredible spec-i-men with'n nearl-y two nor the bristlen lengths on fore-segments. The amount o'. . ."  
  
Using all the powers of Heraldic judgment, Darshay decided it was safe enough to nod once or twice, and let the conversation once again fade into the background. His mind flickered briefly on the thin line between obsession and genius. Pity for the Baroness, he grimaced slightly, before returning to Windrider's last words. :. I'm the Crown Prince of Valdemar, Wind. I've got to be able to negotiate my way out of wars, much less into a simple treaty. I'm not backing out of this. Farmers have been spreading further and further out north, they're going to need the protection that a treaty with Kestlon can provide. .:  
  
With what sounded suspiciously like a sigh, Windrider lengthened his strides. The Baron, being an observant man, if a singularly horrible conversationist, quickly adjusted his own lithe brown filly into a light canter.  
  
"The horsen seem eager-like for'n some shelternin," Baron Kestlon said simply, as his horse inched a hair's-breath past Windrider. "Frank'ly, I'll be a happier'n ta gettin inside walls meself. Yer can never tell where'n those bandits residen these days."  
  
Darshay nodded his agreement, hands tightening on Windrider's decorative reigns for a little more balance as the Companion matched his gate to the filly's. Darshay marveled at his luck for a moment as Kestlon proceeded to keep his mouth shut, perhaps with the effort of riding. The companionable silence--only interrupted occasionally to voice a comment on the surrounding forest or offer information on new bandit sightings--was definitely a pleasant change from bristleworms. Well, perhaps not pleasant, but at least far more applicable, thought Darshay. Plus, it had the benefit of actually holding his attention.  
  
"West?" Asked the Herald suddenly as a particular comment caught his ear. "I was always under the impression that the bandits approached from the north."  
  
"Wall, I be tellin ya, yer Majesty. There be some nor queer'n folk comin out nor the western forests. If they'n be not up ta some nor evil schemin, I'll eat me boots."  
  
Uneasiness settled in Darshay's stomach like a stone. Something about those words just did not rest well in his mind.  
  
:. Gut instinct, Chosen? .: Asked Windrider gently.  
  
:. Perhaps. Just remind me of all this later, alright Wind? .: replied Darshay, trying not to twist in his saddle uncomfortably. He had the barest touch of Foresight that came and went. He hoped this was not one of those moments. If it was. . .  
  
"And here we are'n 'erald-Prince soir," shouted Kestlon suddenly, interrupting Darshay's train of thought.  
  
The Herald-Prince soon lost the train of thought completely as he watched the enormous gates grate open with awe. There had to be some HUGE men pulling the lever for that gate, or at least some very very clever gear configurations. The artificers would have a field day, he thought as he gazed at the slowly opening doors. Walking through the gates was like walking into a dark tunnel. Layer upon layer of wood and stone combined to make walls that could be no less than several man-lengths thick. Impressed despite himself, Darshay let out a whistle of appreciation as he neared the end.  
  
"Kestlon, I must say, this wall is absolutely enormous! How ever did you get it. . ."  
  
The rest of the Prince's statement was cut off and transmuted into a scream of pain. Lashes of violet light shot through his body, overwhelming his mind with pain, just before the world went black. A scream tore from Windrider's throat in response, half shared pain, half challenge. The Companion unfurled his wings of legend in an attempt to escape whatever struck his Herald.  
  
Only they could not. He could not. An enormous net of energy burned through feather and bone, digging down into his wings until Windrider was forced to bid them away lest he lose them.  
  
"Stupid horse, do not think I have not heard of your ways," the clear voice of Kestlon penetrated through Windrider's pain, "You'll find that I set my traps well. Neither you nor your little precious princeling will escape."  
  
Windrider tried to blink the black that encroached on his vision away. This could not be right! Kestlon had changed completely, down to his very soul!  
  
"I am stronger than you stupid horse," replied Kestlon to Windrider's unasked questions, "I could make you see what you wanted to see, the poor country bumpkin lord. That's what you wanted isn't it? What your precious king wanted? Ha! Well, you'll be getting a lot more than that horse. What's more, you and your little friend will soon add to the Power I've already collected. Now why don't you and the young Prince stay here while I go see if your new quarters are ready?"  
  
Laughing, Kestlon strode off into the depths of his fortress, leaving Windrider and Darshay alone, bound down with nets of Power. The glowing lines of that Power, angry and purple, burned into Windrider's mind as he gave himself to the darkness. . . and to despair.  
  
"Windrider fettered, imprisoned, and pinioned Wing-clipped by magic, his power full drained, Valdemar's Heir is defeated and captive, With his Companion by Darklord enchained." 


	2. Ch2

Author's note: So I was reading the last chapter I wrote for this story, and it really sucked (--); HaHa. Please, feel absolutely free to tell me about my stupid mistakes. I really don't mean to use bad grammar, but sometimes I write these stories really late at night (and very quickly) so mistakes happen. Let me apologize for the last chapter, and I promise at least perfunctory proofreading from now on. Honestly though, I think I may need to get me a beta. Heh. Anyone interested... please? ----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Wind. . . ! Brother!"  
  
Windrider struggled not to lose consciousness as his mind reverberated with Darshay's screams and pleas to their tormentor to stop. . .and the laughter: the wicked laughter Companion and Herald had grown to hate over. . . Windrider closed his eyes in despair as he struggled to remember how long the two of them had been trapped inside the dungeons of the fortress Newhart. Newhart, the home of the Baron Kestlon, blood-path mage-- apparently--and one of immense strength. Somehow, Kestlon had learned to not just tap the energies derived from pain and blood, but how to drain true Power from those that had it: to drain it thoroughly, if slowly.  
  
And painfully, thought Windrider, as another wave of nauseating pain washed over his body. He could feel the energies seep out of him, unraveling slowly the very core of his being. He was a Companion. Power was the essence of what he was, and without Power he could not exist. Already, the Power had been drained from his wings, leaving him unable to call them at first and then without them completely. Windrider wondered what part of him would be missing the next time he looked down. Or perhaps, he would not be able to look down at all, not as he was doing now. His eyesight could very well be what went away next, or his hands. Albeit, he could not be drained directly. The energies within a Companion were too pure for those like Kestlon to touch, but through Darshay. . .  
  
Suddenly, Windrider's thoughts came to a screeching halt. His mind, numbed with pain and loss, sharply focused. Hands, he thought, gazing downward. With the barest thought, he flexed the fingers in each of the hands before him, studying them. . . and the arms they were attached to. . . and the chest. . . and. . .  
  
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" Windrider found himself shouting. Windrider gasped startled by the sound of his voice (his voice!). What was going on?!  
  
Darshay, passed out into unconscious bliss, made no answer but the barest whimper. The Baron Kestlon laughed. "Companion energy is too pure, but human energy is not. I know, I studied the one that came last time, both the horse and the Herald. They did not know it, but oh how I studied them! The Power that seethes from all of you. Draining even one or two of you horses would ensure me a lifetime as the strongest of Adepts. But you. . .You have far more Power than even a normal Companion."  
  
Windrider winced as the Baron's laughter took on a hysterical edge. The eternally sardonic corner of his mind wondered why every villain deemed it necessary to expound on his own brilliance.  
  
"Yes Companion, I drained your Herald and you gave him Power to keep alive. I drained that too, and slowly you became weak. Weak but still so strong. Still so much there to harvest! Unfortunately, this one," said the Baron, pushing at Darshay's limp for with his booted foot, "is too weak to channel all your Power. I could not strip you through him, but I can strip you as a human. As weak as you were it was child's play to change you."  
  
Windrider's head reeled. How was this possible? The Baron had changed him then, had really changed him, into a human. That was the only explanation, and the explanation that the Baron claimed was truth. Yet, how was it possible? Companions were Companions, constructed of Power: mortal yet of another plain and each other. Unless. . . Windrider reached with his mind for the presence of Haven's Light that he had always taken for granted and found. . .nothing. His mind went blank. He could not feel the Light that connected all Companions.  
  
"How?" Windrider managed to croak out.  
  
"I worship the great Shadow. The Dark One showed me the way," replied Kestlon simply.  
  
Windrider winced. He had heard of the Shadow and its followers. Men who killed for the joy of killing, men who tortured their own children in worship of that one. . .men who betrayed all bonds for the false strength the Shadow offered. It was said that none rose as quickly as a Shadowlord. We should have known, Windrider cried into the space the Light had once occupied, but there was no Light to answer him.  
  
The Baron Kestlon, watching the rapidly changing expressions of the former Companion, smirked. He made a beautiful man, Kestlon thought silently, with his waterfall of silver-hair as long and silky as any Companion's tail and eyes the color of brilliant sapphires. Not to mention the figure, as slim as any girl's but masculine in its own way, hinting at muscle. It wasn't something Kestlon liked to flout, but his tastes had never run to women. Perhaps before the creature broke, he thought his eyes glinting with a cold light, it wouldn't hurt to have some fun with him. Well, plenty of time for those thoughts later. Shaking the unnecessary out of his head, Kestlon walked toward Windrider, who had crumpled to his knees and now sat radiating despair.  
  
Reaching down, Kestlon grasped Windrider's chin, forcing him to stare upward. His eyes were near vacant, Kestlon noted with pleasure. The creature was broken. "Well, Companion. Hmm. Perhaps I can have my fun now rather than later."  
  
Kestlon tossed Windrider to the floor with a hard push. Laughing slightly as the man lay where he fell, unmoving, Kestlon worked to unbuckle his belt. This was the most fun he had had in ages, he thought, laughing again.  
  
A movement stopped the Baron's laugh. Gazing over, he saw Herald-Prince Darshay move and moan. Briefly, the Baron debated the wisdom of toying with Windrider in Darshay's presence. Injured and weak the Prince might be, but Kestlon was not a man that liked to take chances. Sighing, Kestlon began to rework his belt back through the loops that held it in place. Then again. . . the Baron smiled at his own brilliance. Grasping the belt in on hand, Kestlon cracked it like a lash, letting the resulting noise reverberate unchallenged in the dark room.  
  
With a quickness that hinted at muscle hidden beneath the deception of fat, Kestlon tied Darshay's hands together with his belt, then looped one end through a manacle ring set into one of the cold stone walls. "Where is your strength now, oh Valdemar's Heir?" spat Kestlon as he strode away from Darshay's limp form. Perhaps, he would play with the Prince after the beautiful broken one. Toying with the idea briefly, Kestlon dismissed it. Too much pleasure did no man any good. Besides which, he'd never tortured a Companion before. This would be an experience. Stepping over Windrider's body, Kestlon stepped onto the former Companion's finely-boned hand with the heel of his boot and ground down. Bones snapped. Dropping onto his heels, Keslton smiled like a cat licking cream. With one hand, he reached to grasp a handful of silver hair.  
  
The Shadow would be well pleased with his work today.  
  
"Darklord of Shadows his fetters is weaving, Binds him in darkness as deep as despair, Mocks at his anger and laughs at his weeping, "Where is your strength now, oh Valdemar's Heir?" 


	3. Ch3

Author's note:

Short chapter.

Does anyone want to beta at all? Pleeeease?

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Night or day, Darshay could not tell how the hours passed in the darkness of the dungeon. Gently, he laid moistened scraps of his shirt, across Windrider's burning forehead. He had used the last of their water to soak the shirt scraps. Swallowing convulsively, Darshay tried to ignore the dry scratchiness of his throat. His body cried for that water, but for now it was more important to try and bring down the fever that held Windrider at bay.

Well, there would be more drinking water soon enough. Kestlon liked to see them suffer, but he could not have them die. Not while either of them had the least remnants of Power, anyway, thought Darshay bitterly as he unconsciously brushed back stray silvery strands of hair off Windrider's forehead.

Windrider's hair was much like his mane had been but long like his tail: silvery, bordering on white, with the shorter locks constantly flopping over his eyes. A grossly teasing reminder of a happier a times; times that would never happen again. Wind, my brother. Darshay bit back tears. What has he done to you?

The happiness and hope that had once emanated from their bond was gone now. The man that lay before him was Windrider, Darshay knew, but it was not. It wasn't just his form. Windrider looked as Darshay had always seen him in his mind's eye. The Companion in human form--albeit, it had given him quite the shock, but it was not what made Darshay's heart cry in sorrow.

The Companion had been changed, more than just in body. There was a blankness now where vibrance and light had once been. The Companion who could not be ruled, could not even be constrained to the ground, no longer had even the whisper of winged thoughts in his empty eyes. If only they could get back to Haven, shivering remnants of hope sang softly to Darshay, everything would be better. Windrider would be okay. The Healers gathered at his father's court would find a way to Heal this hurt. The other Companions would know what to do. . .

Mumbling pulled Darshay away from the escape of his mind.

"Yes, Wind?" he whispered, leaning closer to better hear, "Yes?"

"H-hurts," gasped Windrider, opening his eyes to stare up at Darshay. The dead dullness of those once sparkling blue eyes, settled the weight of reality firmly back on Darshay's shoulders. The Heralds and Healers of Haven could not help Windrider. The two of them would never escape here alive. Kestlon would win.

Windrider whimpered as he caught the scent of Kestlon in Darshay's thoughts. Darshay silently cursed to himself. No, Kestlon would not get to Windrider again. Not even if it costs me my life. . .or Windrider's? The thought niggled at the back the back of Darshay's mind. Would death be better than living for the broken Companion?

"Yes," croaked Windrider. "Death. . ."

Darshay started, he had not meant to think that publicly. "No, Brother. We cannot let the Dark win so easily."

Windrider just stared at Darshay in reply, the blankness of his eyes answer enough.

This time Darshay let the tears fall freely. With arms that suddenly felt as heavy as stone weights, Darshay gathered Windrider to him, mindful of Windrider's hurt ribs and broken hand, so that the former Companion could lay his head on Darshay's lap. "I know Brother. I won't let Kestlon have a chance at you again. Never."

At least we greet the Havens together, thought Darshay as he felt tears roll off his chin. He willed himself to hear the drops fall to the ground though he could not see them in the darkness.

"It is never dark in the Havens," whispered Windrider.

Darshay nodded. It would be nice to see again.

"Darklord has left them by shadows encumbered,  
Darshay and Windrider trapped in his gloom,  
Deep in his prisons, past hope, past believing,  
Heir and Companion, will this be your tomb?"


	4. Apologies

HeHe.. due to bad researching skills on the part of the author, this chapter is currently and will probably remain unavailable (until everything is rewritten to some extent)

No worries though! IT WILL BE BACK!!!!


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